


Of Hallowed Ground

by jackabee



Series: Forgestuck [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Character Death, F/M, Rebellion, Steampunk Seance, Supernatural Elements, War, character resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:57:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackabee/pseuds/jackabee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*ON INDEFINITE HIATUS*</p><p>The changing of the guard is as inevitable as the advance and retreat of seasons, but in the court of Skaia it is new and strange. In the face of encroaching mortality, spirits rise from their long-abandoned graves for one final sermon, to make sense of past echoes scarred within the earth. The snakes who left them are long dead, and yet they eat their own tails as the beginning meets the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prehistory

_We toil at the banks of the growing Tyrian Sea_

_A slave’s life in Humanity, we long for hallowed ground_

_To rest our heads, to ignite hearths and ne’er have to fear_

_For looming shadow of Empress near, on our hallowed ground_

_Green star, red star, you twinkle on against the moon so bright_

_We plead to you in dead of night, with prayers of hallowed ground_

_To take up arms and force her back, into the sea recede_

_Can it be done? Some do believe, and fight for hallowed ground_

_With a strength unparalleled, and magics odd and wondrous_

_They do intend to free us all, and promise hallowed ground_

_But at what cost? None do know. Still, risk is in our favor_

_For freedom we wish to savor, we’ll die for hallowed ground_

~*~

It’s a marvel of engineering. Even you can see that, though you never could grasp new technologies very quickly. It always seemed like something better always appeared just when you’d gotten the hang of whatever was new five years ago. Heck, that had sped up exponentially over the past decade. It doesn’t help that you can’t actually use any of what’s come out, either, but that was the trouble of a soul locked in the void, with only the whispers of your fellow dead and the smallest of viewports to the world of the living to entertain you.

But anyway – what you’re seeing now is nothing short of a marvel. It’s hard to accurately describe, even for its creator, a graying troll with curled horns who you’ve attached yourself to for a little while now. She looks like one of _them_ , but so old, old in a way that the others had never gotten to see. You think she’s aware of your presence in the way that most of the redder trolls are, but like them, she can’t speak to you, and you can’t speak to her. Not yet, anyway. But you will, because you know what this machine is for. You’ve heard her discuss it with others you can’t see as she begs them not to be concerned. Not to be worried. Not for her. You shoulder their concern as you watch her age and age, work and work, maroon eyes flitting towards your general direction when she comes to an issue. You look back, hoping that silent cheers can transcend realities. It must, because she always solves her problems in the end.

When the day comes, there is a grinding and gnashing in the gears, a clunking and clicking music of cacophonic quality. When your peephole tears itself open, relenting from the sound, you dive forward, your essence funneling itself into the machine. You puff out of the exhaust pipes, you send dials and knobs turning, pulleys spinning until smoke comes off the ropes. In the heart of the machine, you find a large, empty kettle, and your being curls up in it. The metal is warm and the air here is humid, and there is a new viewport here, large enough for you to see what’s around.

You’re in a large room. The shadow of two thrones looms in the background, and before you stand many figures both troll and human. At the forefront is she who made this marvelous thing, grinning from ear to ear, though there is confusion in her expression. Was she, perhaps, expecting someone else to come through?

It matters not. You’ve waited in the void too long to leave now and dissolve into the beyond, or worse, be yanked back into your prison. You can’t leave without telling them.

And so, you do.

~*~

Long, long, long ago, before the preservation of events transferred from word of mouth to word of pen, red blotted out the sky. Red fell to the earth in great chunks, indecipherable to the humans of the land, who quickly found themselves subjugated by the beings the red had carried within them. These beings, who at first struck in the darkness of the night with ruthless abandon, soon revealed themselves in the light of day to plant their banner in this new world. They were a civilization long divorced from their own home, having traveled generations to reach a new port of call.

They called themselves Trolls.

Grey-skinned, black-haired, armed with horns of all manner of shape and size and difficult to survive against let alone kill; a people of a different age would call them alien invaders. This the trolls would take offense to. Yes, of course they were _invaders_ , but what was meant by _aliens_? To them, humans were the aliens, soft and fleshy and easily conquered. Their sun was warm and pleasant, their land easily malleable. In time, this entire planet could be a suitable home, but for now this bit of land made an excellent colony. Unfortunate humans who could not escape the red were rounded up, made into slaves and livestock, bought and sold by even the lowest of Trolls.

The land claimed was quickly sliced down the middle, allowing for the planet’s brackish seas to stream through, and in the very center of this new river was built a monolithic structure. Using the largest of the red bits as a base, coral and barnacles and sea plants were coaxed into latching onto it, creating a living castle fit for an Empress – and an Empress did live there. She was the oldest out of all the Trolls, and by far the most dangerous, with wild hair and a razor grin that creatures of the deep mimicked in hopes to exude just a touch of her ferocity. She killed without discrimination and revived her victims only to have them be killed again, for she held within her a mysterious power over life energy. It was she who shaped her castle into a reef that reached for the sky, and soon her power oozed from every corner of it, terrifying in its potential.

For centuries, the Trolls thrived under their Empress in this new world. They focused on strengthening their arms and numbers, fortifying their structures, and beating down any humans who tried to reclaim their home. Surrounding lands feared the Trolls and kept their distance, but it would only be a matter of time before the Empress reached out and took them for herself.

Or, at least, it would have been.

The outside world had long left the age of oral tradition, but in this land, humanity still had no records, no documents, though Trolls kept extensive ones through technologies beyond understanding. It was in this time that a human maid of the Empress gave birth to a daughter in secret.

Humans, you see, were strictly regulated in all faucets of life. They were monitored closely and kept to breeding schedules, bluebloods matching mates exactly as the lowbloods practiced animal husbandry in the rural lands. The Empress favored this maid above all others for her sharp wit and culinary prowess, and had taken care to educate her somewhat, in a way that would ensure her fealty and long life.

The maid had been taught at a very young age that she would never be bred under any circumstance. For her to have a child not sanctioned by the Empress was paramount to the ultimate betrayal, and yet she had fallen in love. He had been an older gentleman under the ownership of one of the Empress’s generals and already a father of twins, his previous mate having died in childbirth. He had been so kind, and so lonely, and she had pitied him with burning passion. By the time the maid knew what their union had wrought, he had been moved south with his general, never to be seen again.

The maid kept her pregnancy hidden by some stroke of luck, and when she gave birth, it was deep in the darkest recesses of the castle where no being went. Here, the daughter came into the world with a wailing cry, her first breath that of heady, damp air filled with the Empress’s power. She had spent her entire existence steeped in that power, and, unbeknownst to her mother, that same power over life thrived in the baby’s bones. The maid did know, however, that she could never raise this child. She had to be secret, unseen by the Empress at all costs. In tears and exhausted by the birth, she secured a basket and blanket and set the child adrift in the river, too weak and lovesick to take the tiny life and too frightened to risk keeping her in the castle.

In any other story, the child would have most certainly drowned, but not in this one. Her basket floated swiftly northward, and by the break of dawn had come to rest on a far-off bank. There, as if by a miracle, she was found by a kindly farmer. He already had one infant son, and had lost his own wife and infant daughter in the night. This was a sign, he decided, an apology from fate for taking two beloved people from his life, and took the child to raise her as his own.

Thus began the first life of Jane Crocker.


	2. Overseen

_“You promise you’re okay in there?”_

_“Yes! Dave, why are you so worried? I’m perfectly fine.”_

_“Says the girl who’s nearly completely grey in more ways than one.”_

_“Aw, come on – I think it makes me look distinguished.”_

_“I don’t. It’s fucking creepy, Aradia, and not in that ‘death fangirl’ way. It’s more the ‘oops I bonded myself to a soul-sucking device and now I’m gonna be lucky to make it to thirty’ way. We’ve been through enough weird crap, I’m not down with that and I’ve got every right to worry my fine ass off.”_

_“…Dave?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“Have you been reading Dirk’s old collection of troll comic books?”_

_“No.”_

_“_ Dave _.”_

_“Look, you can’t prove anything, especially when you won’t even explain yourself. When did we switch roles here? I thought I was the unexpected inquisition.”_

_“You_ are _. What’s in here is a surprise for everyone, okay? And I don’t want it to be spoiled. Not even with hints.”_

_“Not even for your Time Buddy?”_

_“Trust me, Dave. Everyone’s going to be so happy about this. It’ll be worth all the work and all the mystery, but that’s the thing – it’s got to_ stay _a mystery!”_

_“…Alright. But, uh, hey. Don’t work yourself to death in there, alright? When the Reaper comes knocking, tell him to hold his goddamn skeletal horses so you can at least give your pailrail the four-one-one. Fuck knows Sollux would just curl up and dry out like a dead bee if you didn’t let him in on your imminent demise – hey!”_

_“You deserved that pinch and you know it, Dave. I promise, I won’t pass on just yet.”_

_“Good.”_

_“…Is there something else you want?”_

_“…Yeah. Book number four of…oh fuck, I can’t remember the name, the title filled up the inside and outside of both covers-”_

_“I think I still have that one in my room. I’ll bring it over to you tonight.”_

_“Cool.”_

~*~

The early morning mist had yet to rise from the river by the time Jane woke. She allowed herself just one minute to lay in bed, her body still aching from yesterday’s work. “Another day,” She said to herself under her breath, “Another bag.”

At sixteen years of age, Jane was no different than anyone who worked the northern farmlands. She was dark skinned and rough handed from life in the fields, planting and tending and harvesting at every moment. It was difficult, yes, especially under the watch of their overseers, the trolls. They towered over wheat and cornstalks, eyes raking the landscape for humans whose breath was too labored and whose movements were too clumsy. When they found such a human, they eliminated them on the spot, splattering the produce with their victim’s bright red blood. The rest had to keep working as if nothing had happened, even if what lay on the ground was the body of a loved one. There were quotas to meet and the deadlines of the seasons to abide, and no one could slack.

Such an existence, Jane well knew, was cruel and wrong. Her father, a gentleman in everything but title, had told her and her brother John of their mother’s death, how she was ruthlessly slaughtered for having the audacity to ask for a day of rest after giving birth to them. His stories of her kindness and sweet nature, how dearly she loved and how gently she lived, always filled Jane with an indescribable sadness. That was why she was determined to never let such a thing happen on the farm again.

But how could anyone keep their fellows from exhaustion and death? Such things seemed inevitable in this life, impossible to circumvent…except she could, and she did, routinely, and that was why she woke so early every morning. As she readied a meager pot of oats for herself and her family for breakfast, there was a distinct knock at the front door. It was soft sound, consisting of seven taps, their rhythm tied to a tune she could barely remember. Covering the pot, she hurried to answer, cracking the door open. Outside stood one of the eldest of the farm’s humans, a woman with flecks of grey in her hair. She had a shovel with her, and leaned on it as one would a walking stick, favoring one of her feet.

“I fell,” The woman whispered, her voice choked with fear. “Slipped at home – I heard it crack, I can’t…I’m all my boys have…”

Jane nodded and ushered her in. She offered the woman their only chair and lifted up the offending foot, pressing tenderly at the ankle. “It’s fine. You’ll be fine, ma’am. Just don’t forget to breathe.”

The thing about their only chair was that its legs had been cut in a hurry, and none of the edges had been sanded down. They were nowhere near as sharp as a blade, but judging by the dried blood along them and how quick Jane was to press her thumb against them, they did their job well. Soon enough the skin broke, and blood welled from the cut, mingling with something else, a sparking something like blue lightning. As soon as the lightning made contact with the woman’s skin, Jane felt her tense up.

“It’s fine, ma’am,” she said again, “This will help.”

And indeed it did. The strange light was a power Jane had always had ever since she could remember. Her father called it a miracle, and John called it ‘a good kind of weird’, but to Jane it was simply an extension of herself. When the sparks faded, the cut on Jane’s thumb had turned to nothing more than a scar, and the woman gaped at her foot in astonishment. Jane chuckled, gingerly bending her ankle.

“Any pain?”

“N-No…none at all…”

“Then you’re good as new.” Jane lowered the woman’s foot and stood up, offering her hand. The woman took it hesitantly, and wobbled a bit as Jane pulled her to her feet. The look of wonder on her face as she placed weight on her once injured ankle filled Jane with warm elation.

“Can I repay you somehow? I don’t have much-”

“Nobody does, ma’am. Just keep me a secret, and that’s all the payment I’ll need.”

The woman thanked her profusely as she left, assuring her silence, and when Jane could finally close the door, she leaned against it and heaved a great sigh. She had been tired before, but now she felt positively drained. “Oh,” she groaned, “My kingdom for a day off…but then I’d need a kingdom, wouldn’t I?”

“That’s usually how it goes,” said a groggy voice. Jane turned to see her brother John sitting up in the family’s shared bed, his hair as messy as always. He yawned and rubbed at one of his shoulders. Beside him, their father continued to sleep. “Was that the only one today?”

“More will come, I’m sure.” Jane crossed the room to their stove, scraping the sides of their pot of oats with an old wooden spoon. “Or something will happen during work, or tonight. Word must be spreading, though.” She tapped the spoon against the rim of the pot. “I think that woman was from the inland fields. I’ve never seen her before. But then, how did she get here if she could barely walk?”

John shrugged. He took care to place their only blanket completely on top of their father before he joined Jane, stretching his limbs until he heard them pop. The sound made Jane wrinkle her nose. “Maybe the adrenaline kept her going? Or maybe she’s not from far away at all, and you just haven’t seen her.”

“We’ve lived here all of our lives, John, how could she not be familiar?”

“She could be new.”

“As if The Overseer could afford more slaves,” Jane spat, shoving her spoon in John’s face. The oats had barely softened. “Why doesn’t he work on feeding the ones he has properly? Are his coffers really so empty?”

He shrugged again, swallowing another yawn. It really would do him a world of good if he had another hour’s sleep. “They’re probably full, Jane,” He said, catching onto her scrutinizing, rhetorical tone, “But he’s got better things to spend them on.”

Such was the attitude of those resigned to live here: apathetic and casual self deprecation. It was another thing Jane wished she could change. This power of hers may have made her special, but that did not mean the other humans she knew did not have great potential too. For what, only a life of freedom could say, but in chains that potential was forever denied to them.

The siblings were pulled from their conversation by the movements out of the corners of their eyes. They had woken their father, it seemed, but he stretched and yawned as if he had woken on his own. Both Jane and John shared guilty looks.

“Good morning,” their father said, scrubbing at one of his eyes.

“G’morning,” the siblings said, heads hanging. “Sorry to wake you,” Jane added. Their father waved his hand, dismissing the apology.

“Oh, no, you didn’t wake me. I was up already.”

He always said something to that effect every time the two of them caused him an inconvenience. They had always known he was just being kind ever since they were small, and though neither of them felt that he did so out of malice, for some reason it just made them feel worse.

John left Jane’s side to set the table, and their father’s gaze fell onto her. “I-I made breakfast,” Jane said quickly, “And, um, a woman with a broken ankle came! I healed her, though. So, er, I don’t know if anyone else will be coming today, so the chair should be-”

Just then, another rhythmic knock sounded at the door. Jane turned to it, her face red, as her father chuckled.

“I’ll stand,” He said, and patted her shoulder as he made for the door. “You have work to do.”

And so the early morning went. One after another, humans from all over the farm made their way to Jane, begging her for assistance. Many had cuts that dripped pus, left by an overseer’s weapon and not cared for properly. Others were sick with coughs that rattled their lungs. There were the few hypochondriacs who worried over every little ache and pain, and even then Jane assuaged their fears, unwilling to turn them away. It was better to err on the side of caution and help those who came, rather than close their door to someone who, if upset enough, may tattle. Once all the people left her house and she swallowed her meager portion of oats, the sun had fully risen, just barely resting on the edge of the horizon. It was time to work.

Together, Jane and John and their father left their house, walking down a dirt road. Along it were other little huts, out of which other families came. From the elderly and hunched to babies tied to the backs of their mothers, the entire population had to be accounted for; soon, behind them, the lowest of the overseers would come thundering in, checking every house for stragglers or truants, and they would bring them to the fields by any means necessary, dead or alive. On a morning like this one, when the air was thick with heat even in the wee hours, it would have been a true delight to rest, or even bathe in the salty river that sparkled on the horizon, but such were luxuries denied to them.

There were more overseers at the fields. They waited at the end of the dirt road with large bags, each able to fit a grown man inside, and they gave one to every slave. A full bag meant that a slave met their quota, and anything less than that meant punishment. Jane took hers silently, head down. No need to draw attention to herself, after all.

Into the fields they went, and so began another day. The crop today was beans, pods ripe and ready to be picked as they hung from their rows of trees. Jane set to work, John on one side and their father on the other. If not for the constant working and the trolls’ shadows stalking the rows behind them, she thought that this sort of life could have been peaceful, perhaps even rewarding.

Noontime was their only break of the day, and it was short. Exhausted, humans would sit along the rows in the shade of the bean trees as the youngest of the overseers made their rounds. Descendants, the adult trolls called them, but if they were the overseers’ descendants, no human knew. All they were allowed were fleeting glances at the adults, lest a lingering gaze be interpreted as insolence. The younger trolls, however, were considerably nicer. Still soft-skinned and unused to the ways of the farmlands, they would do no more than snarl if agitated, and otherwise were quite civil. The one who brought Jane and her family food today was one of the nicest ones, for not only was he the newest of the bunch, he actually tried to make conversation. They knew him only as what the overseers called him – Nitram.

Jane spotted Nitram’s horns before she saw him. They were great big things, long and pointed upwards at the ends like a bull, and he had to walk sideways through the rows, lest he bring down entire swaths of crops. He had a shock of black hair between his horns and large, brown eyes, and despite the heat, he wore black from head to toe, and looked almost as sweaty and tired as the humans. On Nitram’s back was a large tank with a hose and nozzle attached, and at his side was a bag as large as their own crop sacks, filled with cups. Into each he sprayed the contents of the tank, which smelled awful and tasted worse. It was a nutrient slurry, and it supposedly contained all the things a human body needed to keep working. He already had a cup of it ready when he approached Jane and her family, offering it with a toothy smile.

“Uh, good afternoon,” Nitram said softly. Jane took the cup with a nod.

“Good afternoon. Thank you.”

“Oh, um, you’re very welcome!” He said, and rummaged in his bag for another cup. It was a ruse; he had more than enough in there, he just wanted to stall. Technically, they were not supposed to talk to each other. “And, how are you doing today, which is pretty much just like it was yesterday?”

“A little warm.” Jane took a sip of her slurry. She had long learned how to keep it from making her gag. “But it _is_ summer. You?”

“A little warm, as well,” Nitram said. He handed the next cup to John, who made a face at the contents. “But, you know, I’ve got to wear the um, the uniform…”

“Are the long sleeves not for winter, though, Mister Nitram?” Jane’s father asked. He kept an eye out for older trolls, leaning against one of the bean plants and fanning his face. “Surely you must be sweltering.”

Nitram paused, his cheeks turning a muddy brown. One of his shoulders seemed to twitch. “Uh, well, y-yeah…but my skin, um, it got burned yesterday, and I’d rather not, you know, let the burn get worse…”

Jane felt a pang of sympathy for the troll. He was only about her age, and so very kind. He really did not seem made for cruel work. “Might I take a look?” She asked. “At night, of course.”

“O-Of course!” Nitram said, a little loud. Some of the other slaves, still waiting for lunch, turned to look at him. “Uh, well, that is, not of course you can see it, but of course it would be at night…um, it can be of course you can see it, though…the burn, really hurts…and I know, that humans can get burned really badly sometimes, so I guess you might have something to make it not hurt?”

Jane could feel her brother’s eyes on her in warning. ‘Don’t reveal yourself’, they urged. She brought a hand behind her back and crossed her fingers – a sign they shared as children that said ‘Don’t worry, I won’t’.

“Yes, we might have some creams at home. And if not, why, we could make them. I think we have oats left.”

Nitram’s eyes widened. “Oh, no, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” he said, “If you need oats, I will bring some, okay?”

She nodded. “Sure. Shall we set another place for you at dinner?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, either!” He shook his head, but with a smile this time, and finally presented a cup to Jane’s father. “Er, I better go now, though. Or else, I doubt I’ll be able, to come over!”

With that he left, looking considerably happier than when he arrived. John wore a sour expression, and it was from much more than just the nutrient slurry.

“You better not do anything stupid,” He said, “I know you like him – everybody likes him – but what if he snitches on you?”

“I don’t think he will,” Their father said. He sipped his own slurry like a gentleman would a cup of finely brewed tea. “But then again, I don’t think Jane will have to use her powers. She’s simply helping him with the pain. Right, Jane?”

It was a small question, but a weighty one. Jane nodded. “Yes, sir. Only helping. No healing.”

~*~

With company to look forward to, the rest of the day felt almost effortless. John and Jane both filled their bags with beans, and then took it upon themselves to make sure their father’s bag was also full. While still a strong man, he did not move as quickly as he once did, and neither sibling wanted to risk his safety in the slightest, even if he was only one bit of crop away from a full bag. Then, with what little time left in the fields, they helped whoever else they could find. Many times they helped children who were too short to reach a bulk of the crops. Other kids their age and adults helped, too. They all looked after each other, afraid of what an overseer’s strike might bring.

When it was finally time to leave, the overseers collected their bags at the entrance. Today was good – no bag was under quota, and so the humans were given one to split amongst themselves. They started off quietly, aware of the keen eyes and ears of trolls and how much keener they became at night, but as they approached their houses the air filled with their chatter and laughter. The bag of beans was quickly emptied, shared equally between every person. It was not much, but it was enough.

Jane was the first of her family back to their little hut. Quick as anything, she started up their stove and readied a pot for boiling, scrounging in their food stocks for scraps of anything still edible. There were a few puny turnips from last month’s harvest, and some carrots from the month before, gnarled and dirty. They would have to do, Jane surmised, and she set to cleaning and cutting them as small as she could. When John and her father came in, they added some of their beans to her pot, and anything left over was stored away.

“Should we make coffee?” Her father asked, reaching in the back of their store for a small burlap bag. They had not farmed coffee beans since Jane was ten years old, and they had been extremely sparing with what they had. “We are having a guest over. It would be rude not to, I think.”

“If you think it’s best, then we’ll do it,” said Jane, “But I’ve got my hands full with dinner-”

“I’ll do it,” John offered, and he took the bag to the table. He would have to measure out the beans and wait until their dinner was finished, then roast them carefully in some bent metal they used as a frying pan. Then he would grind the beans, and then he would boil that in their pot, and then they would have the thick, gritty liquid that humans knew as coffee. There were rumors of high-caste trolls who drank the stuff with milk and sugar, with the ground beans carefully strained from the mix, but to Jane it was a luxury just to have coffee at all.

And so the family set to work. Jane cooked their dinner, John labored with the beans, and their father tidied up their tiny hut, retiring to the bed when there was literally nothing more he could do. By the time Nitram arrived, there were four steaming bowls of vegetables on the table, and the only chair was left open for him. He gaped from the entrance, a bag under his arm.

“Oh,” he said, cheeks muddy, “You didn’t have to-”

“Didn’t have to nothing,” Their father said, ushering Nitram inside. The troll’s horns were as long as half the diameter of the hut. “A guest is a guest, even if he is expressly forbidden to be a guest under any circumstances. Please, take a seat.”

“But you, er, only have one-”

“Yes, we know,” Jane said. She sat next to John on the bed, hands folded in her lap. Her brother had propped his elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “It’s fine, it really is. We’re used to it.”

Reluctantly, and with her father’s urging, Nitram sat down. He looked so much like a kicked puppy as he supped with them, his sad brown eyes appraising the hut with pity. He had been in human homes before, to search for layabouts, but something about their state affected him more than it did his fellows. It was part of why Jane took a liking to him; she could sense that he had something akin to compassion in him.

“So this sunburn,” she said, nibbling on a piece of carrot, “where is it? On your arms?”

Nitram nodded. He had actually finished his vegetables, though his teeth and species suggested he might benefit more from a carnivorous diet. “And, my back,” he added. “Though, I’m not sure how it got there, since it was pretty much covered, but, it’s possible that my shirt opened. I have to wear, things that button in the back, because of my horns, so…”

He trailed off, the brown blush in his cheeks extending to his ears. Jane hummed thoughtfully. “That could be the case. How does it feel now?”

“Er, kind of, um, itchy? And tingly. And still, uh, hot, even though I covered it, all day…”

Huh. Well, that certainly sounded like a bad case of sunburn. Jane stood and went to the table, hovering by Nitram’s back. There was indeed a line of buttons down the back of his shirt, which clung to him as if wet. It must have been from sweating all day. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Oh, um, no, that is, I don’t mind,” Nitram said. Jane’s fingers went to the buttons, and she was surprised to find them slippery. When she took her hand away, her fingertips were smeared with brown.

“What an odd circumstance,” Her father said. He had gotten up to check on the coffee, and so far, no one had seen how Jane stared at her fingers in confusion. “I’ve never heard of a troll getting sunburn before.”

“Yeah, neither have I,” John added. “I know you guys’re supposed to be nocturnal, but you have really thick skin, don’t you? It’s hard for a troll to even get hurt…”

Jane leaned in subtly to sniff her fingers. There was a tang of copper, and something sickly to the brown stuff that made her stomach tie in knots. Shakily, she resumed her unbuttoning, and the light conversation of before died down as a wet and sticky crackling sound came forth.

What was on Nitram’s back was no sunburn. Where once had been smooth grey skin, now something translucent and shiny had emerged, drenched in brown blood. It crackled as it slowly expanded, revealing a branching pattern of veins. As it grew, John and her father’s mouths fell open in astonishment, and Nitram turned his head as far as it would go, gasping at these emerging appendages.

“I…don’t think you’re sunburned,” Jane said slowly, backing up. “I think you’ve sprouted… _wings!_ ”

But how? No one in the fields had ever spoken of a troll with wings before. These before her were magnificent things, befitting some great butterfly king, lustrous and huge. Could all trolls do this, or only a rare few? Or was Nitram the only one this had ever happened to? It couldn’t be common, if he thought it had only been sunburn.

The troll shivered as his wings quivered, reacting to the air around him. Now that they were not pressed down under his shirt, they could dry properly. “W-Whoa…” he muttered, and his eyes brightened. “Whoa! This is…wow! This is so cool! I, I can’t believe it! Oh, wow, if I hadn’t come to see you, I probably would have crushed them, or something – wow, I feel so much better!”

“I-I’ll bet you do,” Jane said. She looked to her father, bemusement etched into his expression, while John regarded the troll with something amiable.

“Do you think you could fly with those?” John asked. Nitram’s mouth worked a bit, words hard to find.

“I…think so? Maybe? But, er, not right away, probably…”

“I don’t think they would grow if you couldn’t use them,” Jane’s father said. He crossed the room to get a closer look. “I think you’ll need to go outside to let them spread properly, and then you can see the wingspan you’re working with…but they will probably be large enough and strong enough to carry you wherever you wish to go.”

What a marvel, Jane thought! A true curiosity, even to trolls – was there even such a thing in the world anymore? It excited her just to see it.

So lost in enthusiasm was Jane that she barely registered the knocking at the door. When it sounded again, it startled her – it was the familiar tapping of someone in need of her services. For a moment, she froze. Nitram was a trustworthy fellow, yes, but would he keep silent if she healed someone in front of him? It wouldn’t be right to turn someone away. And yet –

With no warning, a body slammed into the front door, nearly making the hut jump from the ground. The door splintered on impact, and even Nitram cowered as they caught a glimpse of who was outside: The Overseer of overseers. He owned the entire farm, and the lives of everyone who lived and worked on it, as so decreed by the Troll Empress. The darkness of the night shrouded his features, but his horns stood out the most, for they were the same as Nitram’s in all but size; his were large enough to cleave the hut in two, should he enter.

“T-The Overseer,” Nitram stuttered, his wings folding in on themselves. “W-What’s he d-d-doing here…?”

It was as if the younger troll’s voice stirred something in his elder, for with an unceremonious _crack_ , the door was pulled right off of the hut. The Overseer let out a long, grunting breath, one Jane could just imagine giving off steam in colder months. In one hand, he held tight to the shoulder of a human, a familiar older woman who had just come to Jane that morning in pain…dread pooled in her stomach.

Hand shaking, the woman pointed at Jane. “T-That’s her, your Overseerness,” She said, her voice barely a whisper, “The, the healer…you asked me to find…please, let me go, my boys – augh!”

She was thrown aside by the Overseer, who reached in and pulled Nitram out of the way. Jane felt John and her father take her on both sides and pull her as far back into the hut as they could, both of them just as frightened as she.

“I believe you are mistaken,” Her father said, surprisingly steady. “We know of no healer in this house. Please, Overseer, leave us be, so we may rest and work hard for you tomorrow-”

His plea was cut short by the point of a long horn that thrust itself into the house. It impaled Jane’s father’s chest, and both siblings watched, stupefied, as he choked on breath and blood, and went limp.

Too fast. It was all happening too fast. Was this a nightmare? It couldn’t really be happening, could it?

Jane’s next actions, and John’s as well, would change their lives forever. John rushed at the Overseer, while Jane yanked her father’s body off of the horn, scraping her hand purposefully against the point. Immediately, cyan sparks appeared, and she reached towards her father, desperate to mend the hole in his chest, not caring who saw what she could do…

But just as the sparks were about to reach him, something slammed into Jane’s head, and she blacked out on the spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've got more story going on! More action! More confusing, strange things! But we're finally getting the ball rolling, and I'm so excited for that!

**Author's Note:**

> This took way too long for me to write. Like, this is really short and has been in the works for over a month. I'm really sorry about that, guys...but here it is. The beginning of the final major installment of Forgestuck.
> 
> To those of you who've stuck around this long - thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I hope not to disappoint.


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